The God-Touched Man

  The God-Touched Man

  Melissa McShane

  Copyright 2016 Melissa McShane

  Smashwords Edition

  Table of Contents

  Map

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Santerran Pronunciation Guide

  Command Words and Spells

  About the Author

  Map

  Chapter One

  No one knew where the smell came from. It was pungent, like old sweat and sour milk, faint but unmistakable, and it wafted through the halls of the Ministry of Home Defense on the breezes generated by doors opening and closing. It had struck Piercy in the face when he arrived that morning, then faded into the background. But when he entered his immediate superior’s office, the draft from the door stirred it up again and made him hastily scrabble for his fine linen handkerchief.

  “Surely someone must be able to do something about that noxious odor,” he said, dabbing his watery eyes. “Though I realize I have been saying as much for the best part of six years, so my assertion probably means nothing.”

  “The latest theory is that it’s imaginary,” Levin Karastis said. He pushed his window open farther, letting in the fresh smell of the lilacs blooming in a hedge between the Ministry and Horseshoe Road. “That being associated with the government has driven us all mad.”

  “I was unaware there was such a thing as an olfactory hallucination. There would seem to be no cure for it, then.”

  “You should ask that magician friend of yours, that Lorantis fellow. Isn’t he supposed to be some kind of genius?”

  “Evon Lorantis is, in fact, the best kind of genius, which is to say his magical prowess supports him and his family comfortably and puts him beyond the reach of our budget. And I have asked him to put his prodigious mind to the problem previously. After many hours for which he did not bill me, he suggested we burn the place to the ground and start anew. I declined to present this solution to the ministers.”

  “He wouldn’t be the first to want to set the damned place on fire.” Karastis fanned the air with his hand, trying to draw more of the delicately scented air indoors. “Well, if there’s nothing for it, we just have to endure. Have a seat.”

  Piercy sat in the rickety, spindle-legged chair that rocked as if all its legs were different lengths and regarded his superior. Karastis sat behind his desk and leaned back, making his own chair squeak. He was a nearly spherical man with a round, balding head and thick fingers who gave the impression of being jovially incompetent. It was an image he’d taken pains to cultivate, concealing his keen intellect and cunning nature. He had been Piercy’s immediate supervisor for six years and had taught him half of what he knew about being other than what he seemed. The rest Piercy had learned from following Evon Lorantis through seven years at Houndston School. The world saw Piercy as a fop and a dandy, which suited him as well as Karastis’s incompetent exterior suited him.

  “Guess why I’ve called you here today,” Karastis said. He interlaced his fingers and extended his arms to make his joints pop. Piercy shuddered. The sound never failed to make his skin crawl.

  “You intend to give me the promotion I have been so long and unjustly denied,” he said.

  “Close.”

  “The Ministry is promoting you and I am to be your aide-de-camp, or whatever it is one calls a personal assistant that sounds more respectable than ‘personal assistant.’”

  “I haven’t sinned so greatly against the Gods as to deserve either of those things. Guess again.”

  “You intend to assign me to protect a lovely young woman of appropriate age who will appreciate my skills in an appropriate and socially acceptable manner.”

  “You have sinned against the Gods so greatly you don’t deserve that. Piercy, I’m sorry to tell you that you and I will no longer be working together.”

  The bottom fell out of Piercy’s stomach. “You—the Ministry is terminating my employment.”

  “No, not at all. The Ministry’s very pleased with your work. It’s been five years, but no one has forgotten your role in the defeat of the Despot. Since that time, you’ve continued to demonstrate quick thinking and keen analysis in all your assignments. And more to the point, you’ve developed a public persona that’s enough at odds with your true self that no one outside this Ministry—hah, and quite a few within it—believes you to be anything but a frivolous man about town whose ability to charm those of the fairer sex is legendary.”

  “And yet I’m to—legendary, did you say?”

  “Pay attention, Piercy. You’re being transferred to the Foreign Office.”

  Astonishment robbed Piercy of his well-bred manners. “I’m what?”

  “Tedoratis requested you personally.”

  “I cannot believe Wilfreya Tedoratis knows my name, let alone considers me worthy to work in the Foreign Office. I understand the application examination has reduced strong men and women to weeping puddles of tortured humanity.”

  “Not something you need to worry about. The transfer’s already been approved. You’ll start tomorrow.”

  “That’s abrupt.”

  “Tedoratis is a decisive lady. She’ll keep you hopping like the elegant little grasshopper you are.”

  “I—” Piercy realized he’d crushed his handkerchief into a ball and stuffed it carelessly into his frock coat pocket. “This is better than a promotion, Levin.”

  “I know.” Karastis leaned forward and extended his hand. “I won’t say I’m happy to see you go, Piercy, but with the war over and our neighbors rebuilding their countries, the Foreign Office is where the action is. You deserve it.”

  “Thank you.” Piercy shook his no-longer-superior’s hand. “I’ll drop by occasionally, shall I?”

  “And I expect to see you at the club now and then. Good luck.”

  Outside, sheltered from view by the hedge of flowering lilacs, Piercy settled his gray top hat, shifted his grip on the hawk-headed walking stick that concealed any number of surprises, and paused before stepping out into Horseshoe Road. It was better than a promotion. The Foreign Office handled all aspects of Dalanine’s relations with its neighbors, most of whom had been at least in part occupied by the Despot and were only just regaining a measure of self-governance as the tyrant’s rule gradually fell apart. To the uninformed observer, the Foreign Office was all about parties and receptions and the glittering lives of the wealthy and connected, but its true nature involved clandestine affairs and meetings in dark alleys and, in a word, spying. Piercy Faranter, man of two identities, would fit in perfectly.

  He left Horseshoe Road for Prince Boulevard, where stores fronted with plate glass displayed the finest wares from all over the country and a few others besides. Piercy slowed to examine a mustard-colored waistcoat that would perfectly coordinate with h
is second-best evening frock coat. He didn’t exactly need a new waistcoat, but reason not the need, eh?

  Out of habit he focused briefly on the reflection of the street behind him. He’d only once or twice caught someone following him this way, but there was no sense letting down one’s guard. He strolled along the Boulevard, holding his walking stick so it didn’t swing. It was unlikely anyone observing him would guess its weight simply by the way it hung, but Piercy never liked giving up an advantage, however small it might be.

  He turned onto a side street lined with birch trees competing with the houses to see who could reach the sky first. The tall, narrow houses with their brightly colored front doors stood close together, separated by spaces so small surely nothing could fit into those cracks. The builders might just as well have given the houses communal walls, for all the privacy those gaps afforded.

  He took the stairs of the third house on the right two at a time, rapped on the red door with the hawk head of his cane, then pushed the door open without waiting for an invitation. “Evon?” he called out, removing his hat. “If you are not home, then you are shamefully lax in your security measures. I might have been a thief.”

  No answer. The door on the right leading to the dining room was closed. The door to Evon’s study stood ajar. “Evon?” Piercy said, pushing the door open further.

  Evon Lorantis sat in his swivel chair, facing the door. He raised one finger to his lips, signaling silence. Piercy glanced around the room. It was in its usual state of creative disorder, one bookcase haphazardly filled with books, the other crammed with an assortment of objects Evon used in his research. He refused to organize anything, saying chaos created inspiration. A stuffed lamb lay on the floor at Evon’s feet next to a crumpled red blanket with fraying edges.

  Evon inclined his head toward the closet door, which was also ajar. Piercy looked in that direction in time to see a tow-headed child emerge from the closet at a run.

  Evon swiveled and flicked up his hands. “Desini cucurri!” he said, and the child, laughing, fell forward to land on her stomach. She rolled onto her back and kicked her legs, which were as rigid as if they’d been strapped together. Evon got out of his chair and lifted the little girl by both her feet, swinging her as if she were a bell with her dress falling down over her face, then caught her and sat back in the chair with her on his lap. “Sepera,” he said, running a hand down her legs, and her knees unlocked.

  “I was under the impression Mistress Gavranter had you working on something to do with ambient cooling,” Piercy said, “but this is strangely domestic.”

  “Wisty has the day off, and Kerensa is busy on campus,” Evon said, “so I’m working from home today. Though you can see not a lot of work is getting done.”

  The little girl squirmed off her father’s lap and ran to Piercy, flinging herself at his legs and gripping them so tightly she might have been a mobile desini cucurri. “Livian, my sweet,” Piercy said, bending to pick her up, “and how many hearts have you captivated this week?”

  “Piercy!” Livian exclaimed. “Want your hat!”

  “You may have it with my blessing,” Piercy said, dropping it onto her head where it promptly fell over her eyes. “It suits you better than it does me.”

  “Livian, show Piercy what you can do,” Evon said.

  Livian shoved the hat to the back of her head and pressed a couple of chubby fingers together. “Presadi,” she enunciated, and a glitteringly iridescent bubble about two inches in diameter appeared in the air between them. Livian grabbed it and hugged it to her chest; it compressed, but didn’t pop.

  “Impressive,” Piercy said, looking at Evon, who had the smug look of a parent who knows his child is brilliant.

  “I’m not plotting out her future career yet, but she shows promise,” he said. “Or she might be content to make unbreakable soap bubbles for the rest of her life. Right now I’ve got a stack of the things in a box in her room. They make excellent toys.”

  “I would congratulate you on your frugality had I not seen the enormous dollhouse you purchased for her three weeks ago,” Piercy said. “I was almost convinced to set up house in it myself.”

  Evon mock-scowled at him. “She needed something her stuffed toys could use to stage raids on Murakot’s castle,” he said. “Though I’m not sure what to make of the fact that she’s named all of them Carall. Possibly because she can’t pronounce Wystylth.”

  “I must say, Lore, your children will have the most unusual childhoods.”

  “But exciting, you must admit.”

  “Decidedly that.”

  The front door opened. “Where are my two favorite people?” Kerensa called out.

  “Mama!” Livian said, and struggled to get down, thrusting the bubble at Piercy. He lowered her to the floor and she ran out of the room, arms outstretched.

  “Oof! All right, sweetheart, you know Mama can’t lift you.” Kerensa pushed the door open, walking awkwardly with Livian clamped to her left leg. Her enormous belly threw her further off-balance, and she smiled gratefully at Piercy when he put his hand on her elbow for support. “I see my three favorite people are here,” she said.

  “I’m honored to be part of that group, my dear,” Piercy said.

  “You’re back early,” Evon said, advancing to kiss his wife and remove their child from her leg. Livian made a noise of protest, and Evon took her by the feet and dangled her upside down again, bouncing her until she giggled.

  “That can’t be healthy for her, Evon,” Kerensa said, smoothing her dress over her stomach and sighing.

  “It never hurt me,” he pointed out, but he set Livian gently on the floor. “Are you feeling well?”

  “I feel fine,” she said. “Tired, but that’s because I’ve been running around campus all day. Three more days, and it will all be over.”

  “And four more days and we’ll be on the coach for Inveros and a well-deserved holiday,” Evon said.

  “And we will all respectfully address you as Mistress Lorantis,” Piercy said.

  “I admit it sounds strange to me,” Kerensa said. “I don’t think anyone else in Elkenhound even considered going to university, let alone for the advanced degree. Livian, sweetheart, let’s go have your dinner and then a nap.”

  “Don’t want it!”

  “A nap for me and the baby. You can keep us company if you want. Piercy, are you joining us for dinner?”

  “I would be happy to, my dear.” Piercy swept up his hat from where it had fallen from Livian’s head. “If it’s not an imposition.”

  “Of course not! I’ll be back as soon as Livian is A-S-L-E-E-P.” She took Livian by the hand and let the girl drag her out of the room.

  “Lore, almost you convince me to become a family man,” Piercy said. He moved a stack of old newspapers to the floor, dusted the seat of the chair thus revealed, and sat.

  “I told you I’d stop nagging you about settling down,” Evon said, resuming his seat in the swivel chair, “but I think you’ve just given me tacit permission to do so.”

  “I did no such thing. And I’m not even thirty yet. I am hardly in my dotage, dear fellow.”

  “You’re one of the lone holdouts of our class at Houndston. Do you really expect me to believe you’re content with a series of flirtations?”

  “You forgot to add ‘meaningless’ to your criticism, Evon.”

  Evon pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “That was thoughtless. I’m sorry.”

  “I appreciate your concern, I truly do. And if I ever meet a woman with as much grace and character as Kerensa, I promise to sweep her off her feet before she can object to my carefree and whimsical manners.”

  “All right. I swear it’s the last time I’ll bring it up. But I’m curious about what brings you here in the middle of the day. Shouldn’t you be at your office?”

  “Ah,” Piercy said. He tried to keep a serious demeanor, but a slow smile made its way across his face. “I am, in fact, no longer employed by Home Def
ense.”

  “Piercy! They didn’t fire you, did they?”

  “Not at all. I’ve been transferred to the Foreign Office.”

  Evon looked as stunned as Piercy had felt when Karastis delivered the news. “That’s fantastic, Piercy! Congratulations!”

  “Thank you, dear fellow. I admit to no small pleasure at this development myself.”

  “What will you be doing?”

  “I have no idea, but I can’t imagine any of it will be boring. Wilfreya Tedoratis asked for me personally, Evon. Who knows what that could mean for my career?”

  “Again, I’m impressed. Do you suppose she wants you as her personal assistant?”

  “Or whatever it is one calls a personal assistant that sounds more respectable than ‘personal assistant.’ That had occurred to me, yes, but I do not intend to begin counting the eggs I do not have in my basket. Not that I have ever come within a mile of a chicken that was not baked, broiled, roasted, or fried.”

  “Then I’ll anticipate for you.” Evon stood and bowed in the direction of the door. “Shall we see if dinner is served? Coincidentally, I believe it’s roast chicken.”

  “That sounds delicious,” Piercy said, rising to follow him. “But I believe every meal is more delicious when it is prepared by someone else.”

  Chapter Two

  “Faranter!”

  Piercy closed his eyes and ground his back teeth together. He summoned his most charming smile and went down the narrow hall to push open the door at its end. “Yes, Miss Tedoratis?” he said.

  Wilfreya Tedoratis waved a sheet of paper at him. “I need these things done before tonight’s gala. See to it, will you? And bring me a cup of tea. Milk, no sugar.”

  “Of course, Miss Tedoratis.” Piercy took the sheet of paper and bowed, then closed the door gently behind him. Instead of going to the great room for tea, he went back into the tiny room he’d been given for an office, its walls papered over in narrow blue stripes that peeled at the ceiling. He sat down on the edge of his desk rather than go to the trouble of worming his way between desk and wall to sit in his chair. It wasn’t much of a chair, being old and wobbly, but he was intimately familiar with the thing after nearly two weeks of doing not much more than sitting in it.